When my mother-in-law moved in during her home renovation, I thought the constant criticism of my cooking was bad enough. But when my meals started vanishing while my husband and I were at work, and she denied being the culprit, I knew I had to find a way to expose her.
A few months ago, my mother-in-law, Gwendolyn, decided to renovate her house, starting with her kitchen. She ripped out perfectly good cabinets and tore up the old linoleum floor without thinking twice.
Construction worker demolishing a kitchen for renovation | Source: Midjourney
The issue is that she didn’t bother to budget for any of this chaos. The renovation turned into a money pit quickly. Even worse, the contractor kept finding new problems, adding expenses left and right. Additionally, some of their work required her to be away, as it was dangerous for her health.
Unfortunately, her bank account was drying up faster than a puddle in the desert.
My husband, Sammy, and I sat at our kitchen table, staring at his phone as she explained this little situation. First, she detailed all the new things she was adding to the renovation, like a better sink, and then she revealed what she wanted from us.
Construction worker pointing at something during a renovation | Source: Midjourney
“I just can’t possibly afford a hotel while the work gets done,” Gwendolyn said, using just the perfect amount of desperation in her voice to convince Sammy. “And you know how sensitive my sinuses are. I simply can’t stay in one of those budget motels.”
Just as I expected, my husband gave me that pleading puppy-dog look he always got when his mother needed something. With a deep breath, I nodded. “Of course, Gwendolyn, you can stay with us,” I said, already regretting the words as they left my mouth.
Man in his 30s with a pleading look sitting at a kitchen table where there’s a phone | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I knew I could count on my darling boy. And you too, of course, Paulina.”
After she hung up, I told Sammy I wanted to set some ground rules in writing. I wanted to protect us. Luckily, he agreed. I printed out some boundaries and stipulations for her stay and asked her to sign them.
Gwendolyn wasn’t too pleased about signing anything, but she didn’t have another option. Besides, we figured her stay would be a few weeks, tops. But, oh boy, were we wrong.
Woman holds pen while reading a paper that says “Rules” | Source: Midjourney
The weeks stretched into months, with no end to the renovation in sight. Each update from the contractor brought new delays and complications.
But that wouldn’t be a problem if Gwendolyn’s attitude wasn’t so terrible. From the moment she arrived with her four massive suitcases, it was like living with a critical, nitpicking tornado.
Nothing I did was good enough. Every meal I cooked became an opportunity for her to remind me of my apparent shortcomings, and she always managed to do it when Sammy wasn’t around.
Woman in her 30s standing in a kitchen looking upset while an older woman in the background holds dishes | Source: Midjourney
One evening, I’d spent hours making a pot roast with all the trimmings. The kitchen smelled amazing, and I’d even used my grandmother’s secret recipe. After I turned off the stove, Gwendolyn peered into the pot and wrinkled her nose.
“Oh dear,” she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you sure that’s cooked through? Poor Sammy, having to live with someone like you! How can anyone eat THIS?” She shook her head slowly. “In my day, we knew how to properly care for our husbands.”
Woman in her 50s looking down at a pot on the stove in the kitchen with disgust | Source: Midjourney
I gripped the mixing spoon so tight my knuckles turned white. “The meat thermometer says it’s perfect,” I replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, those things aren’t always reliable,” she sniffed, poking at the meat with a fork. “And really, Paulina, did you have to use so much garlic? Sammy won’t like it.”
Actually, this was one of my husband’s favorite dishes, but I let it go. It was easier. But eventually, her nagging about housework pushed me to my breaking point.
Pot roast cooking on a stove with a meat thermometer | Source: Midjourney
It happened during yet another dinner where she’d spent 20 minutes describing how her bridge club friend Martha made the same dish, only “so much more flavorful.”
“If you don’t like my cooking,” I said, setting down my fork with a small clatter, “then you’re more than welcome to buy your own groceries and make your own meals.”
I expected World War III to break out right there in our dining room. Instead, Gwendolyn dabbed her lips with her napkin and smiled. “What a wonderful idea,” she said sweetly. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
Woman in her 50s dabs napkin on mouth during dinner | Source: Midjourney
I frowned but continued eating.
For a few days, everything seemed fine. We had separate shelves in the fridge and separate cabinets for dry goods. But then things started getting weird.
I’d come home from work, exhausted and starving, only to find that the leftovers I was counting on for dinner had vanished into thin air.
The first time it happened, I thought I was losing my mind. The roast chicken I’d meal-prepped the night before was gone. Even the fruit bowl I’d filled that morning was almost empty.
Cut up fruit in a bowl in a fridge | Source: Midjourney
My husband and I were both working long hours at our jobs, so there was only one possible culprit. But every time I tried to bring it up, Gwendolyn denied eating anything.
One evening a few days later, after discovering my leftover piece of lasagna gone, I cornered her in the kitchen. “I’ve noticed that the food I cook keeps disappearing,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Do you have any explanation for that?”
Again, she had the same excuse. “You must be imagining things. You and Sammy probably just ate it and forgot,” she said, patting my hand condescendingly.
Woman in her 50s patting the hand of a woman in her 30s in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
I knew it was her and considered why she might be hiding it. Perhaps, her money issues were worse than I thought, and she was too proud to say anything.
Well, she wasn’t too proud to live with us this long while insulting everything I did, so I shook off any sympathy I felt and focused on how I could find proof of her stealing.
That’s when I remembered her allergy to nuts and lactose intolerance. As any good host, I had gotten rid of nuts and bought oat milk for the duration of her stay, but enough was enough.
view from the top, a cinematic, dramatic photograph of a 50-year-old woman’s hands patting a younger woman’s hand, background is a kitchen counter, afternoon light, vivid colors –ar 3:2
I ran a quick errand later, stopping by the grocery store on my way home.
The next morning, I got up early and made a special casserole that I knew smelled too delicious to resist.
Into it went a generous amount of real heavy cream and a healthy sprinkle of crushed cashews. Still, I wrote a big label in red marker: “DANGER! Contains nuts and dairy!” and stuck it right on top of the dish.
I also told her about it. “Don’t eat this,” I warned Gwendolyn before leaving for work. “It will make you sick!”
Woman in her 30s in work clothes in the kitchen pointing at someone like a warning | Source: Midjourney
She barely looked up from her morning paper. “For the last time, I’m not the one touching your food,” she replied with a sniff. “Remember, we agreed to keep things separate.”
I nodded, but I knew she would eat it. When I got home later that day, the scene that greeted me was hilarious, but I had to contain my amusement.
Gwendolyn stood in our kitchen, practically vibrating with rage. Her face had turned an alarming shade of red, and angry hives covered her whole body, which she kept scratching frantically.
Woman in her 50s with red hives on her face from an allergy in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Meanwhile, I set my purse down on the counter, taking my time. “My goodness,” I said calmly. “What’s going on here?”
She whirled around, pointing a shaky finger at the half-empty casserole dish. “You!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You tried to kill me with that food!”
“But I thought you said you didn’t eat my meals?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “Also, I warned you. Did you even read the label?”
The look of realization that crossed her face was priceless. Her eyes widened in horror as she fumbled in her purse for her EpiPen. She quickly injected it into her thigh.
Woman in her 50s holding prescription anti-allergen medication in the living room | Source: Midjourney
A second later, Sammy walked in. As he loosened his tie, he looked from his red-faced, panicked mother to me and frowned. “What’s all the commotion?” he asked.
“Your wife,” Gwendolyn gasped out between wheezes, “tried to kill me!”
Shaking my head, I explained everything calmly. “I made a casserole with nuts and dairy. I labeled it clearly and warned her not to eat it because I know about her dietary restrictions. She still did it.”
I pointed to the label, still stuck to the container.
Container of food on top of kitchen counter that says “Danger, contains nuts and dairy” | Source: Midjourney
Before Sammy could respond, Gwendolyn let out a groan and clutched her stomach. She bolted for the bathroom, leaving us standing in the kitchen.
“I’ll sue you for this!” her voice carried through the bathroom door. “You deliberately tried to poison me!”
When she finally emerged, looking pale and disheveled, I was ready. I pulled the document she had signed months earlier from one of the kitchen drawers.
A woman in her 30s is holding a folded paper that reads “Rules” | Source: Midjourney
“I think you’ve forgotten about our first agreement, the one you signed when you came here,” I said, holding it up. “We weren’t charging you rent, but you agreed to split the utilities, and,” I paused for effect, “not to touch our food or groceries unless we were having dinner together.”
I pointed to the clause in question, which she’d initialed herself.
Woman in her 30s pointing at a piece of paper in her hands in the living room | Source: Midjourney
“At first, we shared meals because it was nice to sit together and have the same food,” I continued, raising one eyebrow at her. “But you decided you didn’t like anything I made, so this rule had to be followed.”
“But–” she blubbered, but Sammy chimed in.
“Mom, she’s right. You agreed,” he said, crossing his arms. “Paulina has been more than nice, even though you’ve been difficult. Admit it was your fault for not heeding her warning, and from now on, stop eating our food unless we specifically want to share.”
Man in his 30s with arms crossed looking disappointed in the living room | Source: Midjourney
Gwendolyn’s face turned an even brighter shade of red… this time from shame. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no words came out.
Then, she stomped to the spare room and stayed there until morning. Surprisingly, her house renovations magically sped up after that incident, and she was out of our house in only a week.
During that time, though, she didn’t complain at all. She barely talked to us. She made her own meals, and we even shared some dinners, where I assured her that nuts and dairy weren’t involved.
Woman in her 50s in the kitchen cutting ingredients with concentration | Source: Midjourney
One time, Gwendolyn actually complimented my chicken with caramelized onions. “This is… good,” she’d said grudgingly, grabbing another serving.
I smiled, a little proud of myself. Maybe, you were never too old to learn a good lesson.
The day she left, she surprised me with a hug and a quiet, “Thank you, Paulina. For everything.”
I smiled and told her she could visit any time. We would always be there to help. Just for the record, I wasn’t proud of what had to be done to get to that point. But you have to stand up for yourself, especially with relatives who can’t appreciate what you do for them.
Woman in her 30s on the front porch waving with a smile | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Father Fired Me Because His Biological Son Wanted My Job — Karma Didn’t Let It Slide
After years of being groomed in his stepfather’s construction company, Sheldon is discarded when David, his stepbrother returns. Instead of retaliating, Sheldon walks out gracefully, only to be head-hunted by a rival company. But a few months in, his stepfather calls him, desperate…
You know things sometimes come full circle? Well, that’s been the story of my life.
I’ve been working at my dad’s construction company since I was 15. At first, it was simple tasks like filing and cleaning out his office, and then more responsibility was placed onto my shoulders as I got through school. And this wasn’t because I wanted to, but because I had to.
A teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
My dad, or technically my stepdad, didn’t let anyone skate by for free. He had one rule and he swore by it. If I wanted to live in his house, I had to earn my keep.
“It is what it is, Sheldon. Take it or leave it,” he said.
Obviously, I had no choice but to take it. Where else was I going to go?
He married my mom when I was 10, and from then on, he always said that I was his “responsibility.”
A couple at their wedding | Source: Midjourney
It never felt that way, because when I turned 16, I had to pay rent, which meant that I had to work at his company after school and work at the local ice cream place during weekends.
But it was fine, I didn’t complain once. I figured that it was all part of his version of tough love.
Over time, I worked my way up in the company. When I graduated from high school, my stepdad gave me no choice but to join the company full-time.
A boy at his high school graduation | Source: Midjourney
“Sorry, Sheldon,” he said one evening over dinner. “But there’s no room for you to go to college or whatever. Now that you have the time and capacity, you need to join the company properly.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said, feeling an odd sense of contentment.
To me, it felt like my stepdad wanted me there, and that was a big deal.
So, I started with the dirty jobs. I cleaned up sites, hauled materials until my muscles were defined, and just did whatever needed to be done. I worked hard, wanting to take pride in the company; it was a family legacy after all.
A man working in construction | Source: Midjourney
And by my mid-20s, I was foreman. I thought I had proven myself, not just as an employee, but as his son, too.
Then everything changed. David came back. His biological son.
David hadn’t been around in years. After my dad’s divorce, he sided with his mom and blamed Dad for everything.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
“He said some pretty horrible things to Dad,” my mom told me once when I asked why we didn’t see David.
“So, that’s it? It’s like how I don’t see my biological father?” I asked.
“Pretty much, honey,” she said. “But your father was a cruel man, cruel to the bone.”
An angry man with a clenched fist | Source: Midjourney
While David was gone, I stepped in as the son. I did everything, I put in the work, but when David decided to resurface, all of that seemed to vanish.
“I don’t get it,” I said to my mom one night. “David hasn’t spoken to Dad in over a decade. And now he’s back, acting like nothing happened between them?”
My mother sighed and cut a piece of banana bread for me.
A loaf of banana bread | Source: Midjourney
“Your father misses him, honey,” she replied quietly. “He’s just trying to make things right.”
I sighed. I could understand that, but it still didn’t sit well with me.
A few days later, I was called into my dad’s office. He didn’t even look up from his desk. He just cleared his throat.
“We need to let you go, Sheldon,” he said.
A man sitting in his office | Source: Midjourney
“What?” I blinked, trying to process. “You’re firing me? Really, Dad?”
He finally glanced up but refused to make eye contact with me.
“David’s coming on board, and, well, we don’t have room for both of you in management. He’s got the degree, you know? Construction management?”
An older man | Source: Midjourney
“So?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice calm. “I’ve been here for over a decade. I’ve earned this.”
“It’s time I help David get on his feet,” he muttered. “He’s my son, after all. And I lost so many years with him.”
I sat there for a second, stunned.
“I thought I was your son, too.”
“You are, but you’re not blood,” he said.
An upset man | Source: Midjourney
Just like that, it was over. No severance, no handshake, not even a thank you for my years of hard work. I felt the anger building, but I kept my cool.
“All right,” I said, standing up. “Cool. Good luck.”
I walked out not knowing what would happen next.
“Just move in with me,” my girlfriend, Bea, said when I told her what had happened. “You don’t need to see him every day after this. Take some time away.”
A smiling young woman | Source: Midjourney
I listened, and within a few hours, I was out of our home and into her apartment.
Within a week, I landed a new job at a rival construction company. I’d made some solid connections over the years, and they jumped at the chance to hire me.
“It’s for a project manager role, Sheldon,” the owner said. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, but I’ve followed the projects that you’ve overseen. You’re ready for this.”
A smiling man in a suit | Source: Midjourney
I accepted without hesitation. This new role meant more pay, and best of all? More respect.
“You’re going to love it here,” my new boss said when he took me around, showing me my new office. “We take care of our people, Sheldon. None of that cutthroat stuff that I’ve heard your father does. And don’t worry, we cover dental, medical, and everything else.”
I smiled. I could already tell that this was going to be an entirely different experience from what I was used to.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
It didn’t take me long to settle into my new job, and I loved every second of it. I had projects that ranged from movie theater construction, to malls, to even theme parks. It was only going to get better from there.
“I miss you at home, darling,” my mother said when we met at a coffee shop for breakfast one weekend.
“I know, Mom,” I said. “I miss you too. But you understand why I had to move, right?”
A woman sitting in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
“Of course I do, Sheldon,” she said gently. “And it was time to spread your wings, too. But if I’m being honest with you, there seems to be something big going on with Dad’s company. He’s been very stressed. He and David are not really on speaking terms now. They’re just polite to each other.”
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked sarcastically.
“I think so,” my mother said, buttering a slice of toast.
Toast on a board | Source: Midjourney
It wasn’t long before whispers started to flood our industry, talk of my dad’s company going under seemed to be the biggest news. Apparently, things really weren’t going well since David had taken over.
My stepbrother had been losing clients, mismanaging projects, and making mistake after mistake. Some of the same clients I had built relationships with left my dad’s company and signed with me instead.
Then, one day, I was sitting in my office, flipping through a stack of resumes when I came across David’s.
A stack of paper | Source: Midjourney
“No way,” I muttered, staring at the paper. It was surreal. The same David who replaced me at my dad’s company was now applying for a job at my new one.
I couldn’t resist. I called him in for an interview.
When David walked in, he looked worn, like life had knocked him around. He didn’t even recognize me at first, but when he did, the color drained from his face.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
“Have a seat,” I said.
He sat down, clearly uncomfortable. The confidence he once had was gone.
“So,” I began, flipping through his resume. “Why are you looking for a job here?”
He gulped.
“I need something new. Things didn’t work out at my dad’s company.”
A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
“What happened?” I asked.
“Just… I made some mistakes. I lost us some clients.”
“I see,” I replied, leaning back in my chair. “You do realize that this is the same industry, right? We’re not going to make it easy for you.”
David nodded.
“I’m ready to work,” he said.
“We’ll let you know,” I said.
A man sitting at his desk | Source: Midjourney
As he left, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of satisfaction and pity. Karma had done her job. Still, it felt good to know that I’d landed on my feet while David struggled.
A few weeks later, my phone rang. It was my dad.
“Sheldon, come back,” he said simply. “The company is failing. David walked out after he messed up again. We’re in trouble. I need you to come back. Help me out, maybe take over.”
I let the silence hang in the air for a moment.
An older man using his phone | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said quietly. “But I’ve moved on. I’m happy where I am.”
He sighed heavily.
“I understand, son. I’m… I’m proud of you, you know?”
“Thanks. I wish you the best,” I said.
“Come over for dinner soon?” he asked hopefully.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Yeah, maybe,” I said.
When I hung up, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Years of trying to prove myself to him were over.
What would you have done?
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
Leave a Reply